"Dead this twenty odd years, Silas!" repeated the other, reminiscently.
"That's so—that's so!" said Cap'n Steiner, softly, listening to the distant song-sparrow. "A purty girl, Katie!"
The two old heads wagged together, silently.
"Them were great days, Silas!"
Silas was thinking of certain things lost in the maze of old memories, and did not answer.
Then he looked down at the river once more,—the river that ran with so many memories for him, and the expression of his wrinkled old face changed again.
He leaned closer to his companion, and whispered something in his ear,—something at which Cap'n Sands chuckled and shook, even while wagging his head disapprovingly.
"Ain't we just a leetle on in years for them sort o' jinks, Silas?" he asked, in mild dissent.
For answer he was given a playful dig in the ribs.
"Tut! tut! What's an odd year or two? It 'd limber us up a bit, Henery!"
"Mebbe!" said the other, weakly.
